Kings and Pawns
by Kami1
Summary: In a galaxy twisted by conspiracy and war, a Saiyajin boy is born just prior to his world's destruction. The boy -- Kakkarot -- forced into intergalactic war, while ignorant of his heritage, must evolve or be relegated to a pawn in battles beyond his ken
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ (applies to all chapters within this piece of writing).  
Prologue  
The advent of the regeneration tank has often been viewed as the pinnacle of medical science. Across the galaxy, no device is more widespread, available, inexpensive and effective at halting the progression of ailments as the simple cure-all. Anyone can operate a regeneration tank with minimal training. The best solution to any medical problem is to hurl the problem into the tank. Calculating every variable to the finest degree imaginable in an instant, the computer will spit out an analysis, taking less time than most sentients require to blink, and begin corrective measures that have proven 99.99998% succesful at remedying any malady -- from viral infections to shattered spines.  
  
The tank's creators -- a race now known for their extreme opulence and consequently, improvidence -- were remarkambly proud of their achievement. They had managed, without anihalating a single system, to equate the ice-jin lords in terms of pure power. Everyone needed their technology. Often, regeneration tanks were the difference between victory and defeat in the tyrants' wars. Being capable of healing all a warrior's wounds -- no matter the severity -- in a matter of hours effectively doubled the size of any army. The tanks transcended galactic medical science. This transcendence is why every galactic medical scientist hates the tank. Regeneration tanks have stolen their jobs.  
  
In the Ice-jin empire, doctors were once respected and powerful, only the Imperial family surpassing them in authority. The reasons for their importance were simple. Ice-jins are not the most trusting sentients in the Northern quadrant and it would have been far from a unique event for an emperor to be assasinated or poisoned. When these situations arose, the Ice-jins depended on a doctor's skill to sew together the tattered skeins that made up their lives. That was... until the regeneration tank's creation.   
  
Why bother with a doctor, who might betray you, or be mistaken in his diagnosis? Certainly an objective and faultless machine was the superior choice. Doctors all across the galaxy lost their once immensely valued positions, relegated to simple tasks, such as overseeing child births. They became no more than menial labourers. For those unfortunate sentients who were affected, it was a catastrophe. That was how, Streelak Kremsta -- former overseer of Lord Freeza's physical condition -- had ended up on Vegeta-sei.  
  
When the tank first arrived, Streelak was unconcerned. He, the top scientist in ten thousand systems, had been given the task of integrating the new systems with those systems aboard the Ice-jin naval vessels. After the succesful conclusion of the assignment, he'd returned to his lord, anticipating gratuitous thanks and rewards... only to learn he'd been transferred to Vegeta-sei, to oversee the birth of Prince Vegeta. Streelak Kremsta -- an extra-terrestrial, avian scientist, with leathery green skin and a sharp mind that belied his senile appearance -- was still there to this day. This day being one where he was preparing to unleash another Saiyajin butcher upon an unsuspecting populace.   
  
The kid -- Kakarott -- was being sent somewhere called Ea-aarth. It was strange how it rolled so smoothly off his serpentine tongue. The planet itself was no concern of Streelak's, however. To his mind, its inhabitants were already dead. Once a full moon rose overhead, they may as well kiss their world goodbye. His responsibility was to make sure the planet was wiped off the intergalactic network, so that Freeza or Cooler didn't send one of their own teams to claim the dirtball. He was then required to send a copy to Freeza's personal flagship, in order to make certain that, if the warrior failed, another would be sent in his place. He sent the message to erase Earth from imperial records and then decided to take a break. After all, one or two minutes wouldn't make any difference to Freeza's record keepers. It wasn't like Vegeta-sei was going to be gone when he came back to the terminal.  
  
The alien doctor turned off his computer screen and walked over to the infirmary's cafeteria, fully intending to return in a few moments, in order to complete his task. Streelak deserved a break just as much as anyone else. He picked up a slice of Kranstar, a Saiyajin delicacy made from the heavily muscled wings of one of the only species who had ever managed to succesfully prey on the Saiyajin race. It had always struck Streelak as ironic that the most feared predators in the universe remained in terrible fear of a practically extinct species of volant carnivores who could be skewered by something as simple as a laser beam. The irony may well have struck the avian again, and he may well have reaffirmed his belief in avian species' superiority as well, once again, had Vegeta not chosen precisely that moment to be struck by a Death Ball, the creature he'd time and time again healed's, signature attack.   
  
Before Streelak had the time to even blink, the very ground he stood upon opening up in gouts of molten rock. In seconds, the entire planet imploded, and, as the pressure grew to great, exploded, taking every being within a dozen astronomical units along with it, save one. The explosion also took one other piece of information with it; the planet's destruction, and the energy that flared outward from its core, like a minature star at its heights, annihalated the only evidence that a boy named Kakarott ever escaped his world's death, and the wiped the existance of his destination from the mind's of every being in the Northern quadrant. In short, the explosion left Earth unheard of and its eventual protector dead to the minds of the few beings who had even realized he had existed. 


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter One  
Duck... dodge... kick... block... duck... dodge... kick... block... duck... dodge... kick... block... duck...   
  
Son Gohan had caught his father in a pattern. The elder Son had always advised Gohan to never fight in a pattern. It made your moves far too predictable and left you open to improvisation on your opponent's part. In the past year of training, he must have heard his father's prudent, embarrasing words a million times. Son Goku -- his father -- was Earth's mightiest protector, and with that title came an insurmountable, seemingly infinite well of sagacity in the area of hand to hand combat -- born from an equally unfathomable number of past victories.  
  
That was why Gohan felt a surge of pride at spotting a weakness in his father's defence. Noone defeated Son Goku. He was a legend, the perfect warrior, or maybe not. With a blithe grin alighting his face, Gohan lunged at his seemingly defenseless father, completely forgetting his first lesson in the martial arts; never let down your guard. He also missed an important signal that his father wasn't quite so defenseless as he seemed. Son Goku's countenance had lit up in a grin at Gohan's advance. It hadn't been an "I'm proud of you, son" grin either. The expression was more like a victorious smirk.   
  
If Gohan had noticed all these danger signals, he might have been able to evade his father's counter-attack. If he had been more concentrated on his own defense, he might have eventually discerned that his father's weakness was really nothing but a false pretense. If... if... if... But none of these scenarios had been the one to occur. Instead, Gohan had charged headlong at his father, both hands extended straight in front of him, charging up twin ki blasts, in hopes of catching the legendary Son Goku off guard. He failed.  
  
Instead, the legendary Son Goku simply opened his unblinking eyes, prompting the release of the abundance of energy he'd built up in them, while dodging his son's previous attacks. Suffice it to say that a somewhat singed, and no happier for it, Son Gohan was left to drift towards the ground after the low powered beams hit him. Why low powered? The reasons for Goku's decision to keep the power of his blast down were twofold. First and foremost, why should he use his own energy to defeat his son, when Gohan had charged up two perfectly good ki blasts in his hands already. Not wanting any energy to go to waste, the older of the two Sons had simply induced a momentary lapse in Gohan's concentration. The two momentariy unrestrained ki blasts had done the rest for him. Besides, if Gohan got hurt while training with him and had to skip his studies, there'd be hell to pay. Even though Son Chi Chi permitted, and occasionally assisted in her son's training, it did not mean she condoned the "delinquint" behaviour. Her reservations were more then ample to stay Goku's hand, and -- of course -- her means of expressing them via frying pan helped to.  
  
Abruptly, Goku looked up, checking to see how much training time they had left. He was sure there were atleast a couple of hours left, but Chi Chi had made it quite clear that he needed to be back home by one o'clock, in order for him to not miss a moment of his wonderful education: something she had never had in abundance, and, therefore, wanted her son to have in abundance. Her prodigal, little Gohan would not lack anything when it came to his education. Chi Chi, or Chi, as he prefered to call her, had made that little detail quite clear. That was when Son Goku noticed the sun's position in the light blue sky. It was almost three o'clock! ... and Gohan was singed. Boy... was he ever going to be in trouble.  
***   
"Checkmate," King Cold stated, a smirk alighting the elder Aissujin's lavender features, as his souless purple eyes swept critically over the lavish antechambers provided for him, finally landing on his son, one Freeza, heir to his noble position. "It appears that I have bested you once again."  
  
King Cold was a being beyond human conception. His ungodly power only equaled by his propensity for destruction. The Aissujin archduke was a sadist: a butcher on scales that left Hitler and Stalin looking like no more than simple babes thrashing in their respective cribs. Even worse for the Northern Galaxy -- his current residence -- King Cold was far from an idiot. He was cultured, sauve and learned, as well as the Aissu empire's current three dimensional chess champion. A gifted strategist and politician, his conquest of the Saiyajin empire through subterfuge, eventually reducing their mighty warriors to docile slaves, was legendary. The Saiyajins were now once again on the brilliant Aissu's mind. He had recently recieved startling news... nearly three decades after the occurence of the events detailed.   
  
An agent planted in his eldest son's -- Freeza's -- intelligence had caught wind of a conspiracy. Freeza had destroyed planet Vegeta, executing the Saiyajin race, in its entirety, with a wave of his marble hand. What truly had earned the Aissu-jin archduke's ire, however, was his heir's reasoning. According to Doddoria, another carefully planted agent, who had only managed to reestablish contact with his true lord -- King Cold -- during this very trip, Freeza had obliterated every Saiyajin in the galaxy, save three males because of an old legend!  
  
The heir to a third of the Aissu-jin empire had been afraisd of an old Saiyajin's wive's tale, and therefore, had exterminated his mightiest servants: the reason why the Nortern Galaxy was so immensely profitable. He had not even reported his error to the throne. Instead, he had reported that a meteor shower had completely destroyed the planet. King Cold had always known there was a flaw in those reports. After all, even if the Saiyajins had somehow been unable to evacuate their homeworld, atleast a quarter of the Saiyajin race was offplanet at all times. The odds against there being only three survivors were staggering. Even so, he'd never expected anything like the complot his son had woven. If Freeza's objectives did not directly countermine his own contrivances, he might even have congradulated the boy. Unfortunately, allignment of their goals was not the case.   
  
Freeza's betrayals had then led the archduke to contemplate punishment for his son's crimes. The simplest solution would simply be to give Freeza a slow and painful death. Displayed across the empire, Freeza's death would discourage other with traitorous designs, likely increasing overall efficiency. He had been about to settle on this solution, the most rational to his mind, when King Cold had recieved a second shocking revelation from his premier mole: Doddoria. Freeza had recently become immortal! This occurence seriously limited Cold's options, effectively vetoing his primary solution. His son's immortality created snags in the many deceitful webs the Aissujin tyrant had woven around his throne. Freeza was a threat to his power, and threats had to be eliminated.   
  
King Cold had, therefore, contrived a brilliant stratagem. Recently, a sorceror named Babidi had come to the lord of the Northern Galaxy, requesting an audience. He'd proposed the reanimation of a monster known as Majin Buu. At the time, King Cold had seen no reason to indulge the wrinkled wizard with his gnarled staff, but now, the monster could be the key to Freeza's final defeat. Even if it wasn't, Babidi and Buu would, at the very least, divide Freeza's attentions, so that Cold could find a solution with more permanancy to his problems. He couldn't have someone more powerful than him intruding in his galaxy after all; Being overpowered, quite simply, was unnacceptable.  
  
As King Cold once again stared at his eldest son's back -- now leaving the chamber -- this time with a cold, calculating look (no pun intended), he allowed a cruel grin to spread up to his mouth, though it never appeared to quite reach his eyes. "Lord" Freeza was going to have a little bit of trouble on his hands very soon. The Aissujin archduke permitted his grin to transform into a hearty laugh, as Freeza forssok the room's comforts, finally entering the hall. Immortal, or not, Freeza's next few years were not going to be enjoyable in the least. Cold's vengeance for the empire would be more than enjoyable; his sport would allow him reach the pinnacle of mirth and then, perhaps, travel a few steps beyond.  
***  
Krillin Chestnut's visage held little mirth. He was finally ready; that fact was one he knew, but the self-assurance did nothing to quell his equally strong feeling of self-doubt. What right did he have to challenge the veritable master of martial arts: a man who'd lived centuries and seen more than the bald monk could imagine. Every piece of his unconscious fough against his conscious mind in this matter; Krillin had been taught from the day of his birth to make himself humble before others. Fighting Master Roshi, for the old man's title, was an objective contrary to every belief he had held dear in the past. Initiates in the temple were supposed to respect their elders, not attack them, in order to steal what the now near senile priests had earned. Krillin did respect his former master, so thoroughly that the diminutive martial artist still donned the old man's uniform before every battle, be it only a spar.  
  
As Krillin watched the old man stride out of the Kame house, a jet black fighting gi adorned with silver stripes, shrouding his form, he felt his resolve strangled by yet another wave of scruples and uncertainties. The man who had raised Krillin, watched him grow from a deceitful, former monk to a powerful, honest warrior, who could defeat legendary demons effortlessly, but avoided doing so unless they threatened another human being. The bald monk had grown in wisdom, maturity, strength and, though it was not always readily apparent, courage. He felt responsible to this man: a man who had been like a father to spiritually wounded child. Master Roshi was a man Krillin would give his life for in an instant; if the old man had not taken him in, he may have taken his own. His life was only a part of what Krillin owed the old, somewhat perverted, yet incalculably wise, man who had dared drink from the fountain of eternal life, never realizing youth was not part of the bargain. Krillin Chestnut owed the Invincible Old Master everything he had and would amount to. How could he have even considered stealing that which the old man had earned? Slumping in defeat, the former monk prepared to concede the match once more -- for the third time that month, in fact. That was exactly the moment Roshi struck, taking advantage of the aversion of Krillin's eyes from his form to land a devastating blow on the side of the younger man's skull facing him, sending Krillin Chestnut flying near a quarter mile into the ocean before finally realizing what had occurred. With a quick cyclonic spin, a technique he'd first seen utilized by Goku in the Twenty-third Tenachi Budokai, Krillin avoided landing in the water; they had determined that the first to touch the sea would be the loser of this particular match. Now completely dry from his high speed spin, Krillin shot back towards the island, the burst of sound energy behind him indictive of his crossing the sound barrier.   
  
Within seconds landing on the island, he raised a questioning eyebrow at his master; Master Roshi had never been one to attack when his opponent's back was turned. His former master's response was immediate, not to mention unexpected.  
  
Sportingly, he replied to the unspoken question: "Come now Krillin. We couldn't have you giving up again, could we?" Then, his smirk transforming into a more serious expression, as a beam of photons shot across his glasses, the legendary martial arts sensei continued. "I have taught you all I know of martial arts Krillin. Your training with Kami has left you far above any level I could ever achieve. There is only one more lesson you must learn, Krillin. You have to believe in yourself. If you don't, you will never be a truly great martial artist."  
  
As comprehension dawned in Krillin's eyes, Roshi once again twisted into a fighting stance. The stance left no openings, as Krillin himself had remarked when he'd first seen it utilized by Jackie Chun in the Twenty-first Tenachi Budokai. A single leg raised and hands lifted on opposite sides of his shoulders. The old master had actually developed the stance based on the movements in one of his women's fitness programs. He almost imperceptibly gestured towards his former student to attack with two fingers from the hand facing Krillin.  
  
Krillin Chestnut simply smiled, nodding his head incredulously at the fact that his old master still had managed to teach him something new. Roshi was right. His self-doubt had been hampering his martial arts abilities as of late. With a nod to his master, not bothering to shrug off his weighted clothing, Krillin lowered his arms to his sides, taking a more traditional stance. Releasing a yell that signaled their mutual agreement to begin the match, the two sprang into action, blurring out of sight. On the diminutive island upon which the legendary Turtle Hermit resided, the battle was joined, as the aforementioned hermit, himself, battled with the second mightiest of his students, granting the young man his blessings through one final battle. Experience and youth clashed on a mythical landmass, hidden within one of Earth's largest seas. Not unsurprisingly to the combatants, youth triumphed.   
***  
Yamcha and Tien were high above the Earth. Spinning, ducking, punching and kicking two combatants, very different than those on Kame Island, engaged eachother furiously, moving so fast that even Kami's godly eyes could catch little more than snippets of the fight. Tien and Yamcha, wearing near identically styled gis not dissimilar to those that Piccolo favoured, save for the fact that it was Kami's -- not Damaio's -- symbol that adorned their chests, fired off volleys of blows with the power to shatter mountains. At their frenzied pace, however, not a single blow connected.   
  
Hoping to change that, Yamcha backflipped beyond Tien's reach, grabbing one of the Lookout's many palm trees to reverse his direction. With a slight change in trajectories, he sent himself hurtling into the air, recalling the first lesson Kami had ever taught him, as he did: "If we jump uselessly, we can't dodge our adversary's blow." Mentally replying to the advice now, he mentally answered, "Not if you can fly, only man." Having finally gained the distance he required to initiate his newest technique, Yamcha used a small displacement of his ki to halt his ascent and let out a scream of "Ultimate Wolf Fang Fist!" In a blur of movement the raven-haired warrior was upon Tien, but unlike the old Wolf Fang Fist, this version appeared to increase his speed as well as offering an excellent set of moves. The attack had temporarily doubled Yamcha's speed and reflexes; Tien was feeling the results of the increase.   
  
Utilizing an older move, the triclops replied with his 4 arms technique, his increased defensive capabilities somewhat closing the gap between the two warriors. Momentarily spotting an opening in Yamcha's defense, Tien fired an eye blast at his opponent, which, despite its low power, was enough to break off the scarred former bandit's assault.   
  
His concentration broken, Yamcha was forced to give up the enhancement his technique offered, just as Tien went on the offensive. Now, with four arms, Tien easily broke through his ally's hastily costructed defense. With a punch to the gut, Yamcha was sent reeling, left completely open for an interesting variation on the Kamehameha Tien had spontaneously developed. Dropping all four of his arms into their proper positions and siphoning ki from other parts of his body to create two, focused beams of power, the ex-imperial guard yelled, "Dual Kamehameha," and, as the attack struk his foe, sent the aforementioned foe flying towards the Lookout, Yamcha's crash landing creating a crater in the chalk white, tiled surface that measured at nearly a half dozen metres. Yamcha had lost.  
  
Tien flew down towards his friend and sparring partner with a irksome grin -- the same grin he wore after every victory. Reaching out a hand to help his best friend up, the bald warrior was surprised when Yamcha grabbed his arm roughly and reversed their positions near instantaneously with an old wrestling move. Wearing his own superior smirk, Yamcha brushed a lock of raven hair from his eyes and watched carefully as Tien slowly got up. The guardsman steadied himself by grabbing Yamcha's shoulder, as he slowly raised his prone form from the floor of The Lookout to his feet. It had been a long match and both were exhausted -- that last cheap shot had used the last of Yamcha's energy. Now the two warriors simply stood together; their excuciatingly sluggardly strides belying the physical abilities they held at full strength. Both had little more than the companionship of the other, and that was all either one needed.  
  
Yamcha and Tien had been unlikely friends. The circumstances under which the two first met earned Tien a fair degree of animosity from Yamcha. Yamcha understood why Tien had beaten him and accepted his defeat, but had seen the breaking of his leg as no more than wanton cruelty. Which, in point of fact, it was.   
  
Tien, on the other hand, felt that Yamcha was no more than an idiot and weakling, too cowardly to have even attempted to join his and Goku's seemingly futile battle with Piccolo Damaio. The former Imperial Guardsman had felt that Yamcha was little more than an oppurtunist, and Yamcha, blinded by his hatred, had seen no reason to correct the triclops' assumptions about his character.  
  
Neither first felt anything akin to comradery until one day, during the first few weeks of their spirit training, Kami sent the two warriors together, but otherwise alone, into a simulation of a Saibaman attack. The six creatures had sprouted from the ground and attacked mercilessly. At this early stage in their training, Tien and Yamcha found their powers dwarfed by those of the diminutive, green monsters. Their only hope lay in three advantages: the saibamens' stupidity, the saibamen's lack of technique and Tien and Yamcha's ability to effectively function as a team. The first battle had been a slaughter. Neither would work with the other, so the saibamen defeated them one by one, destroying Yamcha with a kamikaze technique, while Tien fell to a triple teaming. It had taken Tien and Yamcha two weeks to defeat the saibamen and during this time period Kami had forbade the two from participating in any other simulations. Eventually, they'd developed a healthy respect for one another, and after Bulma had dumped yamcha for being "such a selfish prick," the two comrades in arms had grown even closer. Bulma's words had stung Yamcha to the core. She had claimed he was living a fantasy in an attempt to be a hero. He was neglecting her in a selfish quest to be more like Goku. She had told him that there was no reason to train anymore. Goku was innately stronger than Yamcha, or anyone else could ever be. He had been too weak to even touch Piccolo. He should just give up.  
  
Bulma's remarks had struck deep in Yamcha's core; they'd hit a part of the scarred warrior that he knew well and loathed. Bulma Briefs had damaged his self-confidence; she had attacked him in the one place where he lacked suitable defenses. His tough facade had always attempted to hide this character flaw, but failed miserably at protecting him from the flaw.  
  
If it wasn't for Tien, he might have given up fighting as she reccomended. He had no desire to die futilely. He knew his limits. Despite all his power, Yamcha Soza knew he was human; Goku was so much more. Tien had helped him rediscover his self-confidence through intensive training. He had improved to the point where he could nearly match the guardsman: a dozen times as poweful as he once was. He knew now that Bulma had been wrong and Tien was right. Not only was Yamcha worth something, but his worth was incalculabe, just like the worth of every other living being. Bulma had always thought him worthless. She was wrong.   
***  
Hahahahahahahah! She was right! Bulma, the super beautiful genius, was right, as always. Her father had insisted it could not be done. Capsule Corp's chief scientist's, as well as more than 80% of the non-Briefs shareholders had agreed wholeheartedly with him, but they were all wrong! She had done it alone; never before had she worked alone on a project of this magnitude.   
  
The creation of the capsulized computer core had been difficult. It was not the capsulization of the core that had been particularly difficult for her; that was easy. The primary problem was that she needed to be able to run the computer while it was capsulized. This was a problem because, while capsulized, objects technically didn't exist within the universe the holder of the capsule existed in. The process her father developed placed the objects in a completely empty dimension the elder Briefs had discovered and, by programming their precise molecular composition into the capsule, retrieved them from that dimension.  
  
What Bulma required to operate a computer while in that dimension was a two-way dimensional gateway within the capsule. Every authority on the subject of multi-dimensional travel had quite promptly informed her that objectives were impossible. A dimensional gateway of the size she required was an impossibility, but after five months of design and another three months of construction, her capsule was complete. Her greatest achievement to date was about to bear fruit. Without her invention, space travel was, at best, highly impractical. The sheer size of a vessel capable of carrying an inertial compensator, the most important part of any ship that planned on travelling more than a few dozen astronomical units, was impossible. The inertial compensator itself would require atleast two square kilometres of space, not to mention a drive capable of reaching near-light speeds.   
  
With her capsule, space travel was now a possibility, and that excited her. Imagine all the cute guys she could meet out in space. She was fairly certain that after the Tenachi Budokai in a few days she could convince some of her friends to come with her on her journey. Goku, of course, would have to stay behing to make sure Piccolo didn't try anything, but she could probably talk Krillin and Goku's son -- Gohan -- into coming. Bulma simply couldn't wait! Only a few more days and she could go out into space. The spaceship components were ready. It would only take a day or two to get them capsulized and then... Bulma Briefs was going to meet some cute aliens! After all, there must be someone in the universe for her. All she wanted was a perfect prince charming and that wasn't too much to ask for? Was it?  
AN: Well... there it was. Chapter two. All thirty-nine hundred something words of it. I'd say it wasn't too bad. I was having trouble getting everyone into character at some points, but I think I managed fairly well. I'll admit there wasn't a ton of action, but hey... I tried. The next chapter gets to the part I'm looking forward to anyway. The 24th Tenachi Budokai is starting up and everyone's getting ready. Simultaneously, a lone Saiyajin space pod speeds towards the unoccupied Alpha Centauri system to escape the pursuit of an Aissujin cruiser after being branded a renegade. Lets just say he won't like what he finds there.  
  
Secondly, if anyone can tell me when Kami gave the first advice Yamcha thinks about during his fight with Tien, I'll advertize their story. It doesn't get much better than that.  
  
Finally, I'd like to remind anyone reading this to please leave a constructive review. I don't mind good job's and plz continues, but I would prefer if you could critique my writing technique. Even if you dislike it, I'd be perfectly happy to hear how you think I could improve. That's all for now.  
  
  
  
Kami out 


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